One and Only
by Follow-ur-Shadow
Summary: When Donna's date ditches her, Harvey proposes they have an anti-Valentine's Day instead.


**One and Only. **

**Category: **Darvey Romance/Pre-canon

**Summary: **When Donna's date ditches her, Harvey proposes they have an anti-Valentine's Day instead.

**AN:**

Reposted with a couple a small changes. Thanks to the guest who pointed out I had a few things wrong. I know it's still not technically correct, but hopefully this makes it a little more believable :)

Based on the Valentine's Day prompt by sbstevenson2 Canon or pre-canon. They both hate Valentine's Day and decide to do the most un-romantic date ideas (baseball game, grabbing pizza and beer, idk lol any date that wouldn't be typical Valentine's Day) but end up having a great time

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A strangled groan of frustration sounds faintly throughout the empty floor, and Harvey's gaze snaps to his door, expecting some sort of movement to follow. He isn't disappointed, a flash of red firing into his office, and he watches with mild intrigue as Donna wordlessly bypasses him, heading straight for his concealed whiskey decanter.

She pulls it out, treating his presence as an afterthought when she glances over her shoulder. "Want one?"

He checks the time and it's after 9pm so he shrugs. "Sure." The answer makes her huff a sigh. She's obviously irritated, and he stays in his chair, deciding to bite. "Everything okay?"

"Depends." She places two glasses on his display unit, next to his basketballs. "Would you call dumping someone three days before Valentine's Day an okay thing to do?" She's angry. Not with Harvey but when he remains silent she channels her frustration, mumbling under her breath. "Sorry," she scoffs, "forgot who I was talking to."

The shot of whiskey flies down, and he flinches. Not because he's offended. She's right, he doesn't give a shit about the date, but as far as he knew, neither did she. She's never once asked for it off or mentioned having plans, and this is the first he's hearing about her seeing anyone. Maybe not surprisingly. It had taken them a while to find their footing after he'd ended things with Paula, but he'd assumed they were okay now, and a feeling of unease knots in his chest.

All of a sudden he needs a drink too and pushes up from his chair, clearing his throat. "I didn't realize you were dating someone."

He moves in beside her, his jaw tight, but she knows better than to assume the reaction has anything to do with jealousy. He doesn't respond well to being blindsided, and she does feel slightly bad because it's not what he's thinking. If it had been anything serious, she would have told him. "I'm not." She shakes her head, moving away from the skyline toward his couch. "We saw each other a couple of times, it wasn't a big deal."

He's secretly relieved, not ready to face the thought of her having a boyfriend, not so soon after everything that had happened after their kiss. Even though weeks have passed, he still finds himself caught up in the memory, but now isn't the time to let his thoughts wanted there.

He's confused, wondering why she's upset if it didn't mean anything, and he picks up the decanter following her.

He seats himself in the recliner, his gaze washing over his glass, and the distant look in her eyes worries him. She wouldn't usually get hung up over a guy she barely knows, and it's not like her to appear this vulnerable. "_Hey..." _he gently calls her attention across to him, "what's really going on?"

She flushes, embarrassment warming her cheeks. It's not about a specific holiday or her date canceling. Truth is, he'd been a jerk anyway, but she's disheartened because for one night she'd wanted to pretend she had someone special in her life. Lately, she's been focusing on work, trying to bury the loneliness, but she's tired of going home to an empty apartment, not that she expects Harvey to understand. He seems content pushing through the long hours, and she fingers her drink with a sigh. It's not fair to be sat here, drinking his alcohol and teetering on the edge of a midlife crisis without an explanation, no matter how silly it might sound to him. "I guess I just didn't want to spend it alone, that's all."

The waver in her voice cuts through him, and he wants to kill the asshole who dumped her right on the cusp of Valentine's Day. He doesn't care that a few moments ago he'd been veering towards jealousy. Seeing her hurt is worse, and he picks up his glass, stealing confidence from the amber liquid. "Then you won't."

Her head drives up, not sure what he's suggesting but if it's that the two of them spend it together, then she isn't sure that's a good idea. They've put too much effort into getting back in track. Celebrating a day intended for lovers would only blur the lines again, and she appreciates what he's trying to do, but turns him down. "If you're saying what I think you are, the answer is no."

He tilts his head to the side, rolling his eyes. It's not some grand, romantic gesture. They're friends, and he cares about her. If the plans she'd had were important then he wants to find a way to make her forget about them and focus on something else. "I'm not." He assures her, toeing the line that's drawn between them. "I'm proposing an Anti-Valentine's Day."

She probably shouldn't encourage the idea but is intrigued. "Go on."

"I have tickets to a charity baseball game. Casual clothes, cheap alcohol and nothing fancy." He lifts the glass in hand and his other palm, reiterating the innocence behind the proposal. "You can moan about how much you hate sport, and I'll buy you beer and pizza afterwards."

He smirks, and her lips curve in spite of the bad mood she was in. It's quickly fading under his charm, and to hell with it. At least she won't be curled up the couch with Chunky Monkey being her only source of company. "I'm not washing my hair."

His amusement slips into a grin, glad she's on-board with the non-date. Honestly, he'd rather have her there than have to scrounge around last minute for a client to take, and he doesn't care what Hallmark says. There isn't a card in the word that can top spending Valentine's Day with the one and only, Donna Paulsen.

* * *

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As soon as Donna opens the door, Harvey's hit by the distinct smell of Lavender and Vanilla shampoo teasing his senses. She'd lied about washing her hair, the now glossy curls falling loosely over her shoulders, and he glances down at the outfit she's wearing. They'd said nothing fancy and the navy jeans topped with a white knit jumper should fall into a safe category, but he hadn't counted on the casual look being just as breathtaking.

A compliment sits poised on his tongue, but he swallows it. They're on a non-date not a date-date. "You ready?"

He's a little early but she is and nods. "Just give me two seconds."

She leaves him in the hall, moving to fetch her coat and purse, questioning the sanity behind spending the day together, but it's not like they've never seen each other outside of work before. Besides, he's taking her to a baseball game- not exactly a romantic scene, and she forces herself to relax.

She joins him again, pulling the lock closed, and they're not even half-way down the corridor when he points out the obvious.

"You washed your hair."

He grins like an idiot, and she rolls her eyes.

"You shaved-" she counters with a loose smile, "if you're expecting me to be you're wing-woman, you should have worn the navy Ralph Lauren."

He hesitates for a beat, glancing down at the jumper peeking out from beneath his woolen jacket as they draw closer to the elevators.

"We said casual." He defends, growing distracted when she reaches in front of him to hit the button. He can't help taking in her shapely legs, knowing his eyes won't be straying from her anyway. It mightn't be a date but he's still human, and any man with a pulse would be blind not to notice her, even in a stadium packed full of thousands.

"Please, that jumper cost more than my Christmas present." She scoffs, moving inside the opening doors. She doubts there's an inoffensive label in his closest, but that's not to say there's anything wrong with him wanting to appear well dressed. She's always admired his sense of style, just not his taste in gift-giving. "Although you were _very_ generous last year."

"I'm sure I was." He smirks, having no clue what she'd bought herself. He's always let her have free reign over his credit cards, never bothering to check the statements when they come through. So long as she's happy that's all that matters and when sweeps back her hair revealing the earrings she's wearing, presumably the gift, he smiles smugly at the glittering diamonds. "I thought we said casual?"

"Jewellery doesn't count."

A chuckle lands in his throat as they reach the ground floor, and he lets her pass through first. They stop at the end of the lobby and he helps her slip into her coat before they step outside.

There's an easiness rising between them he's missed. They flirt and laugh, joke around, and maybe that had gotten a little lost in translation over the years, but as they brace the cold, the atmosphere reminds him of their early days at the DA's office. It's playful and fun, no pressure, and he pulls out his keys, beeping the car parked in front of her apartment.

Donna's gaze washes over the closed-top Ferrari, and she hooks up an eyebrow. "This isn't fancy?"

"Car doesn't count."

He mirrors her words with a cheeky smile, getting the door, and she shakes her head as she climbs inside. "Whatever you say, Lewis Hamilton."

"Hamilton drives a Mercedes." The comment is smug, and he moves around to the driver's side, getting in, and waiting until she has her seatbelt buckled before turning over the engine.

It roars into life, and when he revs the accelerator she dramatically tugs at the restraint over her chest. "Do I need a helmet too?"

"_Funny_." He quips."You wanna take the wheel?"

There's no way he's actually serious, but that doesn't stop her ribbing him back. "Sure. Clutch is in the middle, right?"

"Donna, there is no way in _hell_ I'm letting you drive this car."

He grins broadly, pulling them out into the traffic she gives in to the smile prodding her lips.

His eyes light up when he detours them onto I-87, drifting into the fast lane. He's showing off, but it's a different side to his usual cockiness. He's relaxed and enjoying himself, a million miles from cooped up offices and courtrooms.

An easy conversation falls between them as pushes the horse-power, but she feels safe knowing he's in complete control of the car, even though he teases the speed-limit several times.

When he eventually turns them back in the direction of the stadium she's almost a little disappointed. She isn't a baseball fan but nothing screams 'not a date' like being subjected to sports, and when they arrive, she takes Harvey's lead, utterly disorientated in the sea of people.

They find their seats in the Legend Suite behind the home plate, her beer sloshing as she sits, listening to Harvey's pre-game rundown. She'd be bored if it wasn't for his enthusiasm, and finds herself caught up in it, trying to commit to memory the 'important' things she should watch out for. Surprisingly, they stick, making the whole thing more entertaining than she thought it would be.

The 7th inning stretch comes around quickly, and she waits patiently while Harvey goes to get their drinks. They've been taking it in turns, although he's a good few behind her and on light beer because he still has to drive them back.

He returns with a grin, seeming not phased by having to journey through hoards of people, and she smiles, holding both cups as he seats himself.

"Careful." He teases. "Almost looks like you're having fun."

She is, but has a reputation to maintain and eyes him teasingly. "You wait till I drag your ass to the theatre."

"Anytime-" he dares, "but it better be you I'm watching." The only time he's ever voluntarily been to a play was to see her perform on opening night, and it had exceeded his expectations, but only because he'd been captivated by her on stage. The rest he could've cared less about, but he'd followed her movements like a hawk, grateful she hadn't decided to pursue a career in the arts over being his secretary. If she had, he's sure they wouldn't be working together now.

His cheeks tickle pink, and she takes a sip of beer, not convinced he's being honest. "Really?" She pushes. "Even after last time?"

"Hey, I never said I didn't like the play. _You_ were amazing." He lifts his own plastic cup, shuddering at the memory of the awkward afterparty. "It was that round little bald guy, the one who kept quoting sonnets who freaked me out."

She stifles a laugh at the description, trying to admonish him with a straight face. "I'll have you know Charles is very respected in the theatre industry."

"Donna, the man was weird and creepy." He challenges bluntly, watching her gaze swim with amusement.

"Stop it." She slaps his arm, going back to the compliment he'd glossed over. Her memories from the afterparty are mostly lost between flashes of too much tequila, but she's sure she'd remember if he'd said the same thing back then. "You thought I was amazing?"

He's ready to tell her she's always amazing, but a hand shrugging his shoulder turns his attention to the seats behind them. The woman is pointing at something, and he frowns, following her finger to the big screen where-

_Shit_.

He and Donna are being framed by a kisscam love heart.

"Jeeesus."

Donna murmurs the same sentiment out loud, and a drunken chant starts behind them. Just his goddamn luck. He must have been to over a hundred games in his life, and not once has he ever been caught on camera, only to have it happen now. When he's here with _Donna. _On their non-date. He doesn't want to screw up the rest of their afternoon by making things uncomfortable, and he quickly clears his throat. "We don't have to-"

He turns his head at the wrong moment intercepting her way to his cheek, and her mouth lands over him with frigid surprise. He's caught off guard too, more so by the urge to lift his hand and hold her there, wanting to tease open her lips and invite himself inside. He's stuck, remembering the taste of strawberries and whipped cream on her tongue, and his fingers itch with desire, but she pulls back first, causing a cheer to errupt behind them.

Her eyes are glassy as they find him, silently admitting it's fine- they've done more than that, and if these people think the kiss was worth applauding, they're fucking idiots.

He laughs, the amusement almost burying his disappointment, and smothering any awkwardness. He assumes the alcohol she's consumed has something to do with it and risks testing the theory. "You're getting soft, Paulsen."

She doesn't miss a beat. "You know you couldn't handle it."

She winks and he decides she might be right about that, downing a sip of beer to cool off where his thoughts had been heading. Instead, he changes the subject, telling her a story about the team playing as they run out taking their positions.

The scores are getting close when dark clouds roll in above them, drops of rain hitting the back of his hand. Neither of them thought to bring an umbrella, and he insists it's okay if she wants to leave, but she's determined to see it out.

When a potentially imminent tie-breaker fuels his excitement, he glances across at Donna, but forgets about the tension on the field. She's hunched over, breathing white swirls of vapor into her hands and shivering from the dampness clinging to her clothes

The conditions aren't bad enough to deter a fan, but he can't stand to see her miserable and slides his palm over her knee will a soft smile. "Come on, let's get out of here." She's ready to protest -because she's Donna and stubborn- but he grabs her ice-cold fingers, pulling them both up and keeping hold to lead her through the rows of people.

There's a sudden shout and a roar from the crowd, but his focus stays on Donna pressed behind him.

He can catch the replay later.

* * *

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They're both drenched by the time they arrive back at his condo, but neither of their moods have taken the hit, her laugh making him grin as they shrug themselves free of their coats.

"Hey, I know things about you too." He challenges her teasing remark, hanging up the items and moving them through to the kitchen. "Does the word Albuquerque mean anything?"

Her mouth gapes, not able to believe he's trotting that out now, and her eyes glimmer with mock annoyance as she waggles her finger. "I told you that in confidence and for you to bring it up now is-"

"See, I got you." He cuts her off, beaming at the win as he dumps his keys on the counter.

She gives in because it's better than re-hashing all the horrendous details of that 'one time' in New Mexico. "The only thing you're _getting_ is pneumonia if we don't change out of these wet clothes." She motions between them, appreciating the way his sweater is moulded to his body, sculpting his tight muscles. It comes with the revelation she's definitely tipsy, and she leans against the marble edge, her cheeks flushing from the warmth of his apartment.

"You take the first shower." He offers, not wanting her to catch a chill. "I'll find us something to drink and order a pizza."

It's a compromise she'd be happy with if he weren't missing something pivotal in-between, and she raises an eyebrow.

He frowns, until she waves at her clothes, and he suddenly realizes she has nothing to change into, raking his gaze over her with a smirk. "You could always-"

"Don't."

She shoots him a glare, and he tempers down his grin, smiling through his amusement. "Grab whatever you want, it's fine."

The open invitation piques her interest, and she bites her lip, wondering if he realizes what he just gave her permission to do. "You're going to let me go in there and snoop through all your stuff?"

A chuckle tickles his throat, not caring if she does or not. The one thing he's always valued about their relationship above all else is that they don't keep secrets. Which is why he never bothered learning how to switch off his intercom. "Donna, you've been listening in on my personal calls for years. What makes you think there's something hiding in my bedroom you don't know about?"

The insinuation creates a pleasant sensation that sinks inside her chest. He's right. They've trusted each other with everything for more than a decade, and her lips curve as she steals her hand from the counter. "Spoil my fun."

He watches her turn, and realizing he's about to lose the view, his eyes slip to the snug fit of her jeans, but they snap back up when she calls over her shoulder.

"Don't forget the pear tomatoes."

He wrinkles his nose but orders them anyway, and within an hour, they're both dry, drinking wine and stuffing themselves with food in his entertainment area. There's an action film playing on the oversized screen because they both agreed to nothing mushy, but he's not really paying attention, caught up in Donna's story about her friend's cousin, who sounds a lot like the female version of Louis. Though truth be told, he's missing parts of that here and there too.

It's stupid, but he's never seen Donna's natural hair, and he's enamored by the unruly curls framing her face, bouncing as she animatedly fills him in. She hadn't reapplied her make-up after showering either, leaving her sat glowing with natural radiance. Plus, she's wearing his clothes, another obstacle hindering his concentration, along with the endearing smear of sauce at the corner of her mouth.

When she finishes with a laugh, he smiles, using his face to point at the spot. "You've got something..."

He motions, and she swipes but misses it completely, and he chuckles at her expectant look. Without thinking, he leans over and catches the mark with his thumb, letting the digit linger over her full lips. He's overcome by the urge to kiss them senseless, remind them both what they'd missed out on earlier, but she doesn't move an inch, and he drops his hand, clearing his throat. "I'll get us some more wine."

He pushes up, and she thinks about pointing out there's still half a bottle on the table, but he's gone before she dares herself to mention it.

* * *

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Donna wakes up disorientated, the tv flickering and the light still on, taking a moment to register the warm body pressed behind her.

She's right on the edge of the couch, and Harvey's arm is the only thing keeping her from falling. It's latched protectively around her waist, his fingers curved beneath her ribs, and she breathes in sharply, realizing they must have somehow found their way together in their sleep. It's an innocent mistake, but she isn't sure how to get out of it, his musky cologne blanketing all sense of reason. She tries wriggling, wondering if she can somehow slide herself out and avoid the embarrassment of waking him, but she's suddenly alerted to a hardness pushing into her lower back.

She closes her eyes, fully aware the remote control _isn't_ the culprit.

It's sat a few feet away on the table, and she stills, reminding herself it doesn't mean anything. His body's being directed by whatever dream has him held captive, and she sighs, giving in and nudging him lightly. "Harvey, get up."

He stirs, his voice thick and groggy with sleep. "Mmmm... yeah?"

His head sinks further down, nuzzling against her neck and heat flushes her face. If she wants him to snap out of it, she'll have to use more force, and she juts her elbow back, letting out a panicked squeal when he jerks suddenly letting her go.

She crashes to the floor, the air leaving her lungs with a wheeze as she glares up at him.

"_Shit_. Donna. I didn't mean-"

He stumbles over himself to help but is flanked by the alcohol still in his system, and he trips, landing on top of her with an abrupt grunt.

He doesn't immediately lift himself off, scared she might be hurt, and pushes up on his forearms to distribute his weight more evenly, breathing heavily as he searches her gaze. "Are you okay?"

She nods, her voice trapped by his arousal, that's now pressing a lot lower, and just in the _right_ spot. The only reason she isn't completely mortified is because he's still too concerned to notice.

"I'm sorry."

He hovers above her, his breath tickling her lips, and she can feel her heart beating a million miles an hour.

Then he suddenly seems to become aware of the 'predicament' because his pupils turn darker, and she swallows, dizzy with need, and left feeling cold when he quickly scrambles off her.

His hand flounders in front of her face, and she takes it but isn't quite prepared for the momentum that swings her up. She over-steps and his arm catches her waist, her palm landing at his chest to steady herself. She's expecting him to release her at any moment, but he doesn't. He bunches his grip around her t-shirt, and they're so far over the line, her stomach is doing back-flips trying to reach it again.

"_Harvey_." His name falls out breathlessly, nervousness coiled around the silent question.

The hell if he has an answer to it.

Rational thought left the second he woke up, his mind and body seemingly not able to separate them. Nothing about his proposal makes sense anymore. The day was supposed to be damn relationships, prove they have everything they need without throwing a significant other into the mix.

And that's exactly what it did.

It showed him he doesn't _want_ anybody else.

Their non-date was better than any real one he's ever been on. _This_ is what he wants. Donna, with her hair mussed, wearing his clothes and breathing the same air as it tunnels out of him. He wants her in his home, draped across his bed and in his life as more than just a friend.

He doesn't just want it.

He _needs_ it.

Leaving hesitation behind, he sinks his mouth over hers, swallowing the surprised gasp she makes and using it to deepen the kiss. Her hands feather through his hair and he tugs them closer, losing himself in the sensation of her lips and the barries coming down between them.

The only time she stops him is to ask if he's sure, and his cheshire grin, the same smile he's been wearing all day, answers any doubts. He's never been surer of anything. Including the fact he'd been wrong about not needing a Valentine, but he's still convinced that his earlier opinion is right.

No Hallmark card can ever convey how in love he is with the one and only, Donna Paulsen.


End file.
